"Abrahammmmmm," Adam said dramatically. "Like the stuff you make from pigs. Ham. Abraham. President. Hat and a pipe and a beard. Why are we even discussing this?" How had they even gotten on this subject? And why was Mikey suddenly having hearing problems?
Adam reached out and took the bottle, tipping it up against his lips. He would be horribly sad when it was gone, but odds were he wouldn't remember being sad in the morning, because it was the good stuff.
"You said backside," Adam said, and snickered. He wasn't sure why that was funny. Backside was a funny word! Or two words. Phrase? Whatever. "It wiggles of its own accord. Did you miss that part? That was the whole point." Adam poked at Mikey as Mikey pulled on his sleeve, but he was pretty sure Mikey couldn't feel it. Just to be sure, he poked a little harder. At most, it might tickle. "I'm not looking at that pie. What pie?" But it really looked like a good pie. Like Adam might want to cover it in whipped cream and run away with it and a fork. And then in the morning when he was done being hung over he could run ten miles. Or more. Except not really, because he was a smoker and might manage jogging couple miles, total, before falling down wheezing, but that wasn't the point. What was the point? Pie?